


When Worlds Collide

by punch_kicker15



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Elementary (TV)
Genre: Community: whichwillow, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-02-19 08:10:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13119657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punch_kicker15/pseuds/punch_kicker15
Summary: BtVS, post-Chosen, Elementary Season One AU: After completing her sober companion assignment with Sherlock Holmes, Joan Watson becomes the sober companion of Rupert Giles. But when Joan's brother is kidnapped, she can't just rely on her wits to solve the mystery of his disappearance. She needs supernatural guidance and magical mojo to save him.





	1. Chapter 1

Joan adjusted her scarf and glanced down at her phone one more time. She’d already memorized the notes regarding her new client, but she’d learned that it never hurt to double check.

_Rupert Giles, aged 59. Position: executive vice president of Class Protector Security Corporation. Hospitalized for alcohol poisoning January 19th. Due to the highly confidential nature of his work, his firm would prefer that he **not** participate in support groups or group therapy. Suspended from work, with his return contingent upon six weeks’ continuous sobriety, under the supervision of a sober companion._

She knocked, and the door swung open immediately. She did a quick once-over. There were dark circles under his eyes, and he looked older than his file photo. But he was dressed as if he were on the way to work, which was one positive sign. She stepped inside, and noted another positive sign.

“Rupert Giles? I’m Joan Watson. I’m—“

“My watcher,” he said, with an odd emphasis on the second word, as if it were some private joke that she should understand. “Come in.”

She hung her coat on the rack and glanced around the room. It was tidy, which was another positive sign. “Wow, that’s a lot of books. I take it you’re a big reader.”

“Yes,” he said, in a way that didn’t invite any further conversation.

She spotted a book on one of the shelves and tried another tack. “My father’s a novelist. He wrote _Thieves and Vultures_.”

He blinked, and seemed to process that information. “Ah, yes. Good for him. Shall we dispense with the pleasantries? I have every intention of staying sober, and I don’t require chit-chat. Your room is upstairs.”

Joan took a deep breath, and reminded herself that a lot of clients were pretty guarded when she first met them. He’d probably loosen up once he’d gotten used to the situation.

***

One week later, Joan’s phone beeped.

Oren had texted. _Hey, sis! How’s it going?_

She reflexively texted back, _Fine, settling in with the new client_. _Say hi to Gabi for me._

It felt artificial, even more than so than her usual superficial text conversations with her brother. She was light-years away from fine.

Some of it was the letdown of a grand adventure coming to an end. Now that her assignment with Sherlock had ended, there would be more investigations of jewel heists, or murders disguised as plane crashes. Her only job now was helping Rupert Giles—the most boring, tight-lipped man in the universe—stay sober.

Her new charge, on paper, had a lot in common with Sherlock. He had a houseful of books and a predilection for tea. But while Sherlock constantly engaged with her, sometimes in appallingly obnoxious fashion, Rupert seemed content to ignore her. He spent most of his time reading—newspapers and some of the reference books from his shelves. There were no photographs on the wall, no inklings of having any sort of personal life whatsoever.

A few people came to visit, all of whom he treated with the same polite formality. It was maddening.

Maybe it just was a habit formed from years of years of working for a security company. He’d passed every alcohol and drug screening test she had run for him. But Joan couldn’t shake the feeling that she couldn’t help him if she didn’t know him.

Muffled, angry shouting downstairs drew her out of her musings. She dashed down to see what had upset Rupert. This could be a breakthrough.

He was sitting on the couch, eyes glued to the television. “Panama is not landlocked! Why do you think they dug that bloody canal?”

He caught a glimpse of her and looked a bit abashed. “Sorry. The contestants on Jeopardy are just so utterly stupid.”

 _Think of the most open-ended question possible._ “Is there anything you’d like to talk about?”

“No, thank you,” he said, with an air of polite dismissal.

Joan stomped back upstairs to her room. That was it. If he wasn’t going to talk to her, she’d figure things out on her own.

***

The next morning, Joan announced, “I’ve got an appointment for a few hours,” on the way out.

But instead of going to her therapy session with Dr. Gunther, she walked to the Starbucks half a block away, and watched the door of the apartment building.

She waited, ignoring the voice in her head saying, _this is ridiculous_. _Living with Sherlock for a few weeks doesn’t make you a detective._

A few minutes later, Rupert left the apartment. Joan waited a minute, and then left the Starbucks. She pulled the hood of her jacket up.

Despite her worries, Rupert seemed to be completely unaware of her presence. He headed towards the Doughnut Plant and walked inside.

Joan ducked beneath the overhang at CenterLight next door and watched him. The wind kicked up, blasting cold air right through her gloves, making her fingers ache. What was she doing here? Making the earth-shattering discovery that Rupert _liked_ _donuts_?

Inside the shop, a short red-haired woman in a green-and-white wrap dress ran up to him for a hug. She was speaking excitedly about something, and he smiled down at her. He seemed far more engaged in whatever she was telling him than he’d been all week long.

There was definitely warmth between the two of them, but Joan wasn’t getting a romantic vibe from it. The woman looked to be in her thirties—she might be his daughter.

As they finished eating their donuts, Joan decided she’d better leave before Rupert did. And maybe check out a few leads to identify the mystery redhead.


	2. Chapter 2

Willow leaned back in her favorite recliner, glanced at her laptop screen and sighed. No matter how many times she told herself, don’t read the comments on the Technopagan Daily, it’s just the same ten people repeating their endless arguments, somehow she managed to get sucked into reading them, and occasionally writing indignant responses to the stupidest comments. And then deleting the comments, if she’d been annoyed enough to post them.

She was saved from the never-ending dilemma by the buzz of her intercom.

“Ms. Rosenberg? I’m Joan Watson, Rupert Giles’ sober companion. Can you come meet me in the cafe downstairs?”

Oh, right—Giles had a “sober companion.” Willow got a kick out of how formal and Victorian that sounded. But wait, Robin was handling Giles’ sobriety issues, so why would the sober companion be visiting her? Had something bad had happened to Giles? She sent out a tentative telepathic greeting to him, Hey, are you ok?

He sent back, Everything is fine. Please stop fretting about me.

I’m not fretting, she thought. I was just worried for a second.

She felt a familiar wave of affectionate exasperation from him. Fret and worry are synonyms! 

With a bit of relief kicking in, she answered Ms. Watson. “I’ll be right down.” 

She ran down the stairs, she did quick scan of the building. No signs of hostile demons or dark magic inside. The cafe was playing some awful pop song that she could hear from outside. It was unlikely that anyone nefarious could overhear any conversation inside. She pushed the door open.

A dark haired woman stood up and waved at her, and Willow had a moment of pure aesthetic appreciation. Lots of the women she knew were stylish, but Ms. Watson was on a different level. Ten minutes ago, Willow would have sworn that short women should never wear flared pants. But this tiny woman somehow made them work. And the silk blouse with the lipstick prints managed to look formal and playful all at once. Willow tugged at the sleeves of her sweater, suddenly feeling that her carefully casual outfit was just sloppy and unkempt. 

She joined Ms. Watson at the table. She paused for a second, and then decided to lead with the truth. “I’m not sure how you got my name, or why you’re here. Did Giles fail an alcohol test or something?”

“Please call me Joan. And he’s fine.” She took a sip of coffee. “I’m just having a very difficult time getting a read on him. I saw you talking with him at Doughnut Plant the other day, and I thought you might have some insight.”

This was getting weirder. “But how did you know who I was, or how to find me?”

Joan said, “You were wearing a limited edition Vera Wang dress.”

“The one with the water lilies?” She flushed a little, flattered that this fashionable stranger had even noticed what she had been wearing. Of course, that dress had been a gift from Kennedy. It was just like Kennedy to pick something expensive, and apparently conspicuous. Generous and flashy was Kennedy to a T. 

“Yes. It’s pretty rare. I searched for the dress online, and found a photo of you on the Seen in New York fashion blog. You’re standing in front of the gargoyle fountain in Wilkins Park, just around the corner. I went down there this morning and spoke to Richard—“

“Oh, right, my neighbor who feeds the pigeons. And who talks to everyone.” Willow said. This was a fiendishly clever plan to find her, and she’d always appreciated cleverness. It’s a good thing she’s just a sober companion, and not a demon or an evil witch. But that still left an important question to answer. “Does Giles know you’re here?”

“No,” Joan said. “But he won’t talk with me at all, and I’m not sure if that’s just him, or if it’s a sign he needs a different sober companion. He seemed much more engaged with you. Are the two of you close?”

This woman clearly cared deeply about helping Giles, or she wouldn’t have gone to such lengths just to have this conversation. Willow rested her elbows on the table, thinking hard about what she could say without breaking trust, or blabbing about supernatural affairs. 

“He’s a co-worker, and a friend. We both work at the same security company, and we’re both under NDAs, so I can’t get blabby about work stuff. He’s kind of hard to get to know, because there are times where he just closes himself off from other people.”

“Is there something specific that caused this closing off? Did something traumatic happen to him?” Joan asked.

Willow said, “I think that’s something he should tell you himself.” And even if it was ok to tell you the truth about Giles, you’d think I was delusional. 

Joan nodded. “I respect that. But when he’s so hard to read, I don’t have a sense of what’s unusual for him. The other day he was yelling at a game show, and I couldn’t tell if that was some negative emotions bubbling up to the surface, or something else.”

Willow couldn’t suppress a giggle. “Was it Jeopardy? Because that’s totally normal behavior for him.” She smiled sympathetically. “I think you should give him a chance to relax a little. If he really hated you, he’d be pretty direct.” 

“How long?” 

“I’d give it a couple of weeks at least.” 

“I’ll think about it,” Joan said. 

The tone of her voice was even, but Willow sensed some inner conflict bubbling below the surface. It must be hard for her; Giles isn’t the easiest person to live with. Before she’d completely thought it through, she blurted out, “If you get tired of the quiet, I’d be happy to get coffee with you and talk your ear off. Not about Giles, but just—about random stuff. I can babble with the best of them.”

Joan’s lips twitched up slightly. “I may take you up on that. Thanks for listening. I need to get back to the apartment now.” 

Willow watched her leave, and trudged up the stairs to her apartment. She picked up her laptop, closed out the tab to Technopagan Daily, and began to scrub the web of any photos of her in that conspicuous dress.


End file.
